Blink Back To Let Me Know
by honey i'm holmes
Summary: John has found a friend he can finally open up to. One problem: he doesn't even know that friend's name.


Blink Back To Let Me Know

Chapter 1

It had been another long day.

As the final rays of sun descended and gave way to a pink, hazy twilight, Sherlock and John made the brisk walk from their latest crime scene to 221B Baker Street. The taller man led the way. He was in a good mood. The murder he had just solved had been difficult enough to be an amusing challenge, different from the usual and mundane murders.

_No_, thought Sherlock, _half of these 'murder mysteries' don't even deserve that designation. It's not a mystery if the answers are only capable of eluding the simplest of minds. Or Anderson. No, this one was much more… entertaining._ A small smirk played on his face as he reviewed the case details again silently, reliving his cleverness.

John trudged along behind the detective, oblivious to his inner monologue. He was in a good mood as well, but for a different reason. He always enjoyed witnessing Sherlock crack a seemingly unsolvable case. He liked to watch him absorb all the information, delicately, slowly, and deliberately. John imagined he could see gears turning behind Sherlock's icy eyes until – **click** – all the pieces fell into place. He could never see the result before Sherlock explained, but John was getting quite experienced at knowing when Sherlock had solved it all. John was even starting to form a bad habit of uttering "Brilliant!" before the detective had announced he knew the answer. That little trick had always gleaned a few awkward looks from the rest of the men and a smile from Sherlock.

Lately though, John had had other things fighting for his attention, other things on his mind. Other people, to be specific.

For some time now, John had been carrying on a conversation with someone he only knew as X online. It started with anonymous comments on his blog. The first message had been innocent enough:

I am really enjoying following your adventures! Very exciting – I look forward to hearing more. X

At first John thought it was Moriarty. Most of the comments John received on his blog were either demands for explanations on Sherlock's deductions or requests for help on cases of missing pets, strange sightings, or the occasional gem of a murder mystery. However, Moriarty's anonymous comments were usually sickeningly flirtatious towards both John and Sherlock. Despite never trying to hide behind his comments, Jim also never left any sort of identifier, as anonymous did with the X. Jim's detailed comments on different – John shuddered to think – positions he would like to see the men in generally spoke for themselves. It was either that, or his typically flamboyant language. John quickly ruled out the world's only consulting criminal.

As the days went on, more cases were solved and more comments were left from X. The comments slowly became more detailed, and John became more appreciative of his new follower. The comments always seemed genuine and respectful of John's view and part in the duo's schemes.

In truth, John was enjoying all the attention very much. So when John got a private email message from X, he was delighted to finally be able to reply.

John's mysterious fan started the first email correspondence with an inquiry about a recent case. John smiled a bit to himself before typing up a quick reply about how Sherlock had arrived at an answer. After hitting send, he quickly checked his blog and sifted through the mundane requests. As he was getting ready to close his computer, a small chime let him know that he had a new message. _Someone's eager_, he thought to himself with a small chuckle.

Yes, Sherlock is very interesting. But tell me what you thought. I want to know more about you. X

John raised his eyebrows in the slightest while quickly evaluating how much he should divulge to a stranger. He had eliminated the possibility of it being Moriarty or even Mycroft, so no trickery. Could it be possible that this person was genuinely interested in whom John as an individual was?

John glanced over at the couch, where he half-expected Sherlock to be lounging with a patch or two. When his eyes met empty cushions, John remembered that Sherlock had gone to his room early, complaining of something or another. John considered Sherlock to be his best friend, but John could never really talk with him as an equal. John had been secretly craving a human connection with someone that didn't constantly make him feel like an idiot.

John drew in a sharp breath, paused one moment, and then clicked the reply button.

Now, a few weeks later, the conversation had not stopped. John was almost embarrassed to admit how quickly he had divulged facts about his life. He shared about his family, Harry, his time in the army, his new life on Baker Street, Sherlock (sometime with praise, other times with complaints). X was always keen and interested, and in return shared as well.

John was never sure on specifics, but he assumed that X was female in the way that she talked. X was not eager to share identifying information, but she shared small, seemingly insignificant details about her life that started to bring a smile to John's face. X would mention that the flowers in the park were just now blooming beautifully, or that a small boy had dropped his ice cream cone on the street and a stranger had given him enough spare change to buy another. She would mention how a colleague reminded her of a reptile, and she would tease John for how often he spoke of jam. She knew just what to say to get John back on track after a difficult day. Simplicities became poetry. X had a way to finding beauty in the smallest of things, a characteristic that genuinely warmed John's heart. He was used to detail-oriented people, but it was a pleasure to be reminded of happiness and humanity instead of the usual wickedness and inhumanity.

John had had a long day chasing after Sherlock, and as he returned home he only thought of what his latest email might say. He couldn't help it as a small smile crawled onto his lips and stayed there until his thoughts were interrupted.

"I said," Sherlock huffed, "would you be interested in getting dinner?"

"Oh sorry," John mumbled, although he doubted very much that Sherlock had actually been repeating himself. John took a moment to bring his mind back to reality. They had already arrived at their flat, but Sherlock was looking in the street, ready to grab a taxi. "Um, sure. Do you mind if I grab something quickly?"

Sherlock nodded. "Be quick. I'll wait here."

John ran up to the flat, his footsteps and thoughts echoing heavily on the walls: _I hope X has replied._

John moved quickly, knowing Sherlock would be timing him and comparing it to how long John _should_ have been looking for his wallet, or whatever Sherlock assumed he was grabbing. John knew he didn't have enough time to reply to X, but he was very interested to know how she answered his question.

No New Messages.

John tried to hide his disappointment – from himself if anyone – as he looked over his last, unanswered message to X.

I was thinking, we've been getting along so well, would you ever want to meet in person? – John

John blushed at how X must have read his message. Did she think he seemed overeager? Here he was, a total stranger, asking her out on a date. Hell, John wasn't even absolutely sure it was a woman, much less one similar to his age.

_Oh god,_ thought John, resting his face in one of his hands with a disgruntled sigh. _This could just be a teenage girl, or even an old pervert. What have I done?_

Feeling very embarrassed of his rash message, he shut his computer and stormed out to where Sherlock was waiting on him.

"You didn't grab anything," Sherlock casually mentioned to John without looking at him.

John didn't feel like guessing how Sherlock knew that. "Yes, well, um. I realized I had my wallet on me the whole time." It wasn't a lie.

Sherlock raised one eyebrow at John while hailing a cab.

That night, John didn't check his messages when he got home. He was filled with embarrassment and regret, and still wasn't sure if no reply was better than a bad reply.

John squinted to combat the sun shining through his windows. He had overslept again. He groaned and rolled out of bed, checking the time. _At least I've nothing going on today_, he thought while rubbing his eyes. Pulling on his robe, he went to the living room with intentions to make a blog post about the case he and Sherlock (_Okay, mostly Sherlock_) had cracked the day before.

He had already begun to think of clever titles. He shuffled through a couple of options in his head, refusing to ask his flat mate for help anymore. Sherlock seemed to take delight in chiding him for his occasional word play. John scoffed and rolled his eyes a little. _The man doesn't even read my blog. What does he care?_

"Morning!" Sherlock called to him from the kitchen without looking up in a chipper tone that caught John off-guard. John mumbled something in reply as he watched Sherlock apply ice to a sock with a greenish liquid on it.

"Is that my…"

"It's an experiment." Sherlock looked up at John then, immediately picking up on John's indignation. "Sometimes people's clothes get sacrificed in the name of science," he offered, settling his eyes back to his items.

John rolled his eyes for the second time that morning, but decided to not press the issue. _Add that to the list of clothes Sherlock needs to buy replacements of._ He plopped in front of his computer and tried to get comfortable for the time he would spend typing. He had almost forgotten about his small problem when he heard the small chime.

One New Message.

_Oh god, oh god, oh god._

John's heart quickened and breathing stopped as he opened the message.

Coffee sounds great! 4pm, you pick the place. X :)

John couldn't help the smile that slowly materialized on his face. The emoticon was something new between them, and it gave him the confidence boost to think that his suggestion probably wasn't a bad idea after all. Still grinning stupidly, John gave the location of a small café two kilometers from his flat.

Hitting send, John allowed himself a large sigh of relief. He felt good about what he was about to do. He completed his blog post with an energetic zeal and set about to get ready for the rendezvous.

The afternoon passed in a blur. Sherlock finished his experiment, but seemed displeased at the results. He retired to a corner for some time, playing the violin and not paying John any attention. John dressed casually; he was still unsure about the nature of his meeting with X, and he did not want to draw any unnecessary attention to himself from Sherlock. At 3:30, John casually let Sherlock know he would be taking a walk. Sherlock looked up from his playing, giving John a quick nod but not questioning him further. _It's my lucky day,_ John thought.

John was grateful for the walk to the café. He had needed time to straighten his thoughts and calm his nerves. He arrived at the shop 5 minutes early and selected a table by the window. He sat there now, scanning everyone who came in when a waitress stopped by.

"What'll it be for you?"

"Oh, I'm waiting on someone," John gave her a smile. "But if someone comes in looking for a John, will you please direct them to me?"

"Sure thing, hun." She turned on her heels, leaving John to his thoughts and his window.

John started to worry at five past four. _Maybe she never got my message. Maybe she's been in an accident. Maybe she's changed her mind._ John was leaning with his head pressed against the window, looking out, so absorbed in his thoughts that he didn't notice someone was standing right next to him until he heard the loud throat clear.

"Well, John. What are you doing here?" John looked up into the condescending smile of Sherlock.

"Getting some coffee. Did… did you follow me here?" John demanded.

"Of course. I like to know what you're up to, John, and you were far too anxious today to just be going for a simple walk," Sherlock looked bored of the conversation already.

"I'm meeting a friend if you must know. But honestly, I should be allowed to have a small bit of privacy in my life! I don't appreciate you following me everywhere and deducing my every move. I would like it if you left now." The tension in John's voice could not be mistaken.

"But John, I'm bored–"

John slammed the table with one hand.

"Goddammit, Sherlock! You have ruined every single date I have ever been on! Just this one time, get out of my life!"

A few people turned to look, but most ignored the small outburst.

"So it's a date then." It wasn't a question. Sherlock seemed a bit more intrigued, but didn't ask any more questions. He peered into John's face for a few seconds and John could feel him trying to read for something. After a silent moment, he turned and left wordlessly. Sherlock was incapable of being hurt, but the look on his face showed he was not happy with where the conversation had gone. John wasn't sure if it was because of his outburst or because he was on a date.

A date.

John still had not fully admitted to himself that he had romantic interest in X. He couldn't fathom it as possible, given what little information he had on her. Yet here he was, thinking of the things they had shared, their easy connection. He was beginning to blush right there at his table.

Still raw from his interaction with Sherlock, John ordered a latte as he waited.

And waited.

At 4:35, he saw a woman who looked at him long enough to get his hopes up. He was about to approach her when a group of women called her over. As she walked to them, already engaged in their squealing conversation, John sighed with irritation.

At 4:42, John realized that he hadn't even 'checked' to see what the woman he thought was X looked like. He realized that he wasn't all that concerned about her appearance. He knew that her mind was wonderful, that was what mattered to him. He felt a surge of pride for being 'one of those people' that started to like someone from inside out. _I've already seen the best parts of her. If the outside is good, that'll just be a bonus, _thought John. _Well, hopefully she doesn't have a monobrow though._

At 5:10, John decided X was not going to show up. He left money for his coffee, and reluctantly left the unused meeting place.

Back at Baker Street, John had made up his mind to not speak to his flat mate. At least until he felt like Sherlock understood how upset he was. _Luckily that will be easy tonight_, noted John, when he found the flat empty. A dim light from under Sherlock's door showed that the detective was either retiring early or giving John his space.

John sat heavily in front of his computer. He was surprised to hear the chime signaling he had one new message. He wasn't sure what he was expecting – or wanting. An explanation? An excuse? John's thoughts took a dark turn: _perhaps just a nice 'I've changed my mind, fuck off.'_

John swallowed hard and opened the message.

Terribly sorry about today. I had an issue with a friend come up unexpectedly. Thank you for understanding. I promise to make it up to you. X

_An issue with a friend._ Well, John could certainly understand that. The massage wasn't dismissive as John had feared it would be. X seemed to still be interested in arranging a meeting. And then there was the mentioned promise… John typed a quick response.

Oh, don't worry. I'm too familiar with issues of those sort, especially the annoying way they come up at the worst of times. Now I'll admit it: I'm intrigued. How will you be making it up to me?

John had already forgiven X, but was just as confused as ever. John truly felt as though she was flirting with him, a positive sign. But he was still undecided about his growing feelings for someone he had never met. Someone he barely knew anything of. _But it had been so easy_, thought John, almost defensively. Her words had been a source of comfort when jumping from murder to murder. _How could you ignore such a simple yet fulfilling human connection?_

Another chime.

One New Message.

_That was awful quick,_ John thought happily.

How about a proper date? I've made reservations at that new Italian place I've just seen. Maggiana's, or Michialli's, or something of the sort. I trust you know what I'm talking about. 7pm tomorrow night. Don't be late. ;) X

John's heart skipped a beat and he bit down on his lip to suppress what would have been a smile almost too large for his face. There was no denying his mysterious admirer's intentions now, and a familiar heat rising to his cheeks reminded John that his intentions – however absurd it felt – were probably much the same.

Sherlock had tried to make peace with John the next day. Of course, only John would have been able to pick up on his strange method of showing it.

"John," Sherlock called jovially from the kitchen as John was watching more of his 'crap telly.' "It seems we've run out of milk!"

John sighed, sat up, and began to look for his wallet before Sherlock interrupted his search. "No, no, don't worry. I'll fetch it this time."

John's jaw dropped slightly. He couldn't remember the last time Sherlock had gone out for groceries. _Christ, it could be his first time since I've moved in_. Sherlock gave him one of his fast smiles, the kind that made his eyes crinkle before almost completely disappearing.

Sherlock began muttering to himself. "Look at me, genius detective. Out to buy some milk." He didn't sound irritated at all, only amused, as if using his intellect for comparative shopping in the aisles was a very good joke indeed.

John wondered just how far he could take this. He considered asking him to pick up a jar of jam, but decided to not push his luck as his flat mate strode out, his long coat sweeping behind him.

After one hour had passed, Sherlock has still not returned. John hated to say he was 'concerned' for his flat mate, _but…_ John frowned slightly. Even on the days marked with his most difficult rows with the machine, John had never taken this long. John pulled out his mobile.

No problems, I hope? – JW

A few minutes passed.

No, none. Stumbled into some business that I must attend to. Will explain later. – SH

_Probably Mycroft again_, John rolled his eyes. At least Sherlock wasn't throwing a tantrum inside a store somewhere.

Sherlock still hadn't returned three hours after his departure, but John had started becoming concerned with getting ready for his 'proper date.' John still dressed simply, but put on one of his nicer jumpers. After a slight hesitation, he put on a dash of cologne. _What am I doing…_ John absentmindedly bit at the inside of his cheek while trying to push his insecurities from his mind.

_This is fine. This is normal,_ John tried to justify to himself. _Many people go on dates with people they met from the internet. Some people even have very long relationships, get married to internet friends._ John checked his appearance in the mirror, scrunching up his face at the direction his thoughts had turned. _Not that I'm planning a relationship with her…_

John decided thinking at all was not the best route. He messed with his hair for a bit more, trying to get the perfect I-haven't-messed-with-my-hair look. Feeling moderately happy with his efforts, John smiled as his reflection smiled back at him. Gaining confidence, located his wallet and mobile and made his way to the restaurant.

"And what name is the reservation under?" John looked blankly into the bored face of a host who had just asked him the question. John had let the young man know he had a reservation, but he was stumped on what to say next. _Surely she wouldn't expect me to know her name, and X would hardly do for a reservation._

"Watson?" John tried. The host started flipping through a book, frowning. For a second John became terribly frightened that X had not actually made a reservation and now he was going to look rather stupid.

"Ah! There you are, Mr. Watson. This way please." John took in the general atmosphere of the place. It was darkly lit, soft lamps and candles: typical of a romantic destination. The soft murmur of idle chatter was accompanied by gentle piano music coming from somewhere. John noted that he was not being led to one of the regular tables, but to a small area carved into the wall, just large enough for a two person table. A sheer burgundy curtain closed off the area.

John was getting nervous and beginning to feel a little underdressed. He sat in one of the two chairs, thankful he had left early enough to be there first. _Very fancy indeed, especially for a first date. Maybe that means she has high hopes?_ John realized that if everything went the way he was hoping, this could very well be one of the best dates of his life. It had all the correct ingredients; all that was needed was some proper stirring.

John nervously adjusted the silverware at his place setting. He refused to entertain the possibility that this would be another flop, that X would not come. _No, she'll be here. I trust her._ John's nerves felt a bit more soothed, but he still felt a small desire for a drink to smooth over his frayed anxieties.

John looked up as he noticed a shadow on the other side of the curtain, gradually coming closer. John could feel that this was it. The many weeks of interaction, the getting to know each other, the exchanges, the development of friendship and… possibly more. It was all down to this moment. John stopped breathing. The curtain bunched together as a hand on the other side grabbed it and pulled it aside. John locked his eyes on…

Sherlock.

"What are you doing here?" _This had better be a matter of life and death,_ John thought, his temper creeping out into his chest.

"Why, John. Cologne? You didn't have to get all dolled up for me," Sherlock said amiably.

"You know bloody well it's not for you." John snapped back.

"John. There's something we need to discuss." Sherlock sat in the chair reserved for John's date. John was half tempted to shove him off, but knew it would put his seat in jeopardy as well if management saw anything. Not trusting his fury to subside itself into a conversational tone, John remained silent, his eyes burning into Sherlock's.

Sherlock took this as a sign to go on.

"Please listen to me, John. You're not going to like this, but hear me out." At this, Sherlock began to look uncomfortable. He shifted his gaze down at the table, to the candle, anywhere but John's eyes.

"A little over a month ago I began an experiment. At least, that's the way it started out. It was an experiment on human interaction, particularly of the digital type."

John felt his stomach fall and he began to panic.

"I wanted to see how humans connected when there was no physical association or context. I began this experiment as an observer, but before long I became a part of the experiment. As silly as it sounds, I found it remarkably easy to open up to people anonymously."

John's mouth went dry.

"I started a conversation with you, John, and only you, because you are the pinnacle of humanity. You possess all the best characteristics of our race. I knew that attempting to draw a digital connection from you would yield the best results. What I did not expect was that I would get drawn in myself. I started the conversation as a façade, being kind and adopting the persona of a 'normal' person. But then you caved in to me. You started sharing intimate details about your life. Things I'm sure you found insignificant, but I could see their importance. Details you've never told the Sherlock that is your flat mate. And I quite liked it. I felt close to you. I felt the connection. It was brilliant, John! So, I decided to reciprocate. I know you and half of London believes that I am incapable of basic human emotions. I indeed believed this to be the case as well, but somehow I was able to suspend my stony self when we exchanged stories. John, you began to change me. Every single day, I felt a little different.

"So you see, you actually _did_ get dolled up for me. I have wanted to reveal myself for a few days now. Your initial invitation would have been perfect, but your delicate, unassuming frame of mind and violent reaction let me know that you would not have taken the news well then. I left, but felt guilty about still leaving you in the dark. I made reservations here as soon as I arrived home. I can see by the way you keep clenching your fist and biting the inside of your cheek that you may not take this news as well as I had hoped, but I knew that telling you now was the right thing to do. Not only for your sake, but for mine as well. I have been wanting to share the results of my experiment with you."

Sherlock drew in a breath, signaling that he was finished. He had been talking at top speeds again, but John had caught every word. John just looked at Sherlock now, horrified.

"So I was just… an experiment to you? This whole thing… it meant _nothing_ to you?" John practically spat the last part at Sherlock.

Sherlock flinched. "On the contrary, John. Something in the experiment went wrong. Something I did not anticipate. John, I have always known you to be a good-natured and fair person, respectful and kind. But the insight our conversations gave me to your mind was astounding. Your mind, although it is a bit less complex than mind, is rather beautiful, John. I cannot be sure on this, because I have no prior experience on the topic, but John… I do believe I have fallen in love with you."

John was shocked. Stunned. His mind was blank. Bile started to rise in his throat.

Sherlock looked at John with desperate, pleading eyes. "John, please-"

John was done. He rose up, thought about saying something, but didn't trust words to actually form. He ripped the curtain aside and walked briskly out of the restaurant. He started blindly wandering the streets, not knowing or caring what direction he was headed. He simply did not want to think about anything right now. But no matter how hard he willed it, the thoughts and emotions started to come to him. The strongest emotion was betrayal.

_How could he do this to me? How could she do this to me? Bloody fucking hell, there is no she! _John wished he had never admitted developing feelings. It made it that much harder to deal with.

_Stupid, stupid John. Having feelings for… for a character!_ John stopped at this. It wasn't entirely correct. If Sherlock was telling the truth, what John had fallen for was Sherlock entirely. The deepest parts of him. The parts of him that others did not even believe existed. _And Sherlock has nothing to gain from this. He has put himself in a very vulnerable place. He has no reason to lie to me._

_But how can I have feelings for Sherlock? Of all people? It's not right. It can't be._

"I'm not gay!" John shouted out loud. John realized his thoughts had been loudly vocalized, and was immediately thankful his wandering feet had brought him to an empty alley.

John slumped down on the ground, leaning against a brick wall. He couldn't return to the flat, not after this. Not knowing what awaited him. John briefly went through his options.

He could move out. He was sure Harry would have an open couch until he could find a place of his own. That would mean leaving his life as he knew it behind. No more chasing murderers, no more running across London, no more having his life threatened by whoever the next big criminal was.

_It's beginning to sound like a better life already,_ John reasoned. But he knew he was lying to himself. He knew how much he loved the battle, the danger. After everything he had gone through, he couldn't see himself just settling for an ordinary life.

His other option was returning to 221 B Baker Street, and asking Sherlock to please forget everything that had happened and to please never bring it up again. John knew it would be hard, but Sherlock was still his best friend and he knew he would do his best to put this event in the past. Sherlock, on the other hand, had been almost more affected than John because of the whole experience. John wasn't sure that Sherlock could be the same man to him after this. _After professing his love_, John thought, bewildered.

John's third option was the one he was repressing the most, but was also the one he thought of first. He could go back to Sherlock, tell him that he had developed feelings, had become addicted to the connection he felt with the anonymous stranger. He could pull that person – that real Sherlock – out of the cold detective he lived with. They could try a relationship. They could be best friends and lovers. John would still be hurt from the deception, but time and love have proven to heal almost all wounds.

_But then there's the problem of sexual attraction,_ he thought.

John tried to shake the third option from his mind. It was impractical and ill fitting. But the truth was that John was terrified to lose both Sherlock and X. Both had – in separate ways – grown to become essential to his happiness. John was being given a chance to either reconcile Sherlock and X, or leave them both.

John slowly brought his hands up to his face, covering his eyes. He wished he could have gone back to where things weren't this complicated. But then again, things had never been simple in the life of John Watson.

John then knew what he had to do. _It will be hard, but I have to try._

A few minutes later, John found himself at Baker Street. He took a few deep breaths to steady himself before entering and gliding up the stairs.

Sherlock had been sitting on a chair in the corner. He jumped up and spun around at the sound of John on the stairs. John's wild and determined eyes met Sherlock's red and blotchy eyes. John wondered if he had been crying earlier.

"John, I am _so_so sorry-"

"I've heard enough!" John cut him off sharply. John stepped closer until he was in front of the taller man. "Sherlock, there's something I need to know: why?"

Sherlock's voice quivered. "John, I've told you, it was-"

"No," John interrupted him for the second time. "Why X? Is it only representative of an unknown? I would have thought you more clever than that."

"Oh, John," Sherlock laughed darkly and bitterly, the hurt projecting through his voice. "It didn't stand for anything. It was a kiss…"

Time slowed as Sherlock took a quick stock of John. _Dilated eyes, adrenaline. Slight drop of the lower lip, angry huff. Movement in the arm and hand, preparing for a punch- no, perhaps a slap. Yes,_ thought Sherlock,_ John is going to hit me._

A fraction of a moment later, Sherlock realized he had been _wrong!_

The dilated eyes, _attraction._ The drop of the lips, _increased breathing. _And the hand – the hand was now on the back of Sherlock's neck.

_Oh, Sherlock,_ the genius thought to himself. _You might be losing touch. John is going to kiss y-_

Sherlock's thoughts, for once, completely silenced as the two men met at the lips. John was gentle and apprehensive, as if testing the waters. Sherlock let John take complete control. He had wanted this for so long now, and he did not want to do anything to spoil it. The kiss, although small and brief, had a dizzying effect on the detective. Eternity stretched out in front of him. Sherlock's mind was still blank. All he felt was contentment, happiness. He knew then that if there was a way he could kiss John for the rest of his life, he would never want for anything else.

While Sherlock's mind had been quieted, John's was running in overdrive, his thoughts spilling faster and faster.

_Okay, this. This isn't really so bad. It's not much different from when I've kissed girls. He's only a bit taller. I wonder what he's thinking right now. What will he do when after this? I hope he doesn't jump to conclusions, I'm still deciding on this after all. I did not expect his lips to be so soft. And his hair. His hair really is quite nice. It's the perfect tone for his complexion too. It's almost… beautiful. What? Did I just say Sherlock is beautiful? How long have I been holding that in? I swear, I've never thought that until now… Actually, this is rather nice. It feels, right. I suppose. It feels normal. How is that possible? I've never been attracted to men before. And I'm not attracted to men now. Just Sherlock. This is all his fault. He made me fall for him, inside to out. Maybe I'm just Sherlocksexual. That will have to do. Ah… this is very good._

John broke the kiss then, drawing his face back slightly. Sherlock's eyes remained closed for another moment before fluttering open. John had a small frown on his face that was scaring Sherlock.

John moved his hand from the back of Sherlock's neck to the front and then up, cradling the side of the taller man's face and tracing his cheek bone with his thumb.

_This really could work,_ John thought while his eyes travelled all over Sherlock's face, searching for reciprocation. John could clearly see it. He could see it in the flush of Sherlock's pale skin. He could see it in those ever so slightly parted lips. He could see it in his eyes most of all. John could see all of Sherlock in his eyes. He had found the person he was looking for, the person he had opened up to, the person he had been dying to meet, ignorant of the fact that he had been living with him this entire time. _Perhaps… perhaps an army doctor really could fall in love with a consulting detective._

"J–John, what are you doing?" Sherlock finally stammered.

"Conducting an experiment of my own," John murmured gently with a smile as he returned to Sherlock's lips.


End file.
